


Remains

by notjustmom



Series: Epiphany [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, Retirement, but SWEET smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last major part of Epiphany; mostly told in flashbacks as Sherlock and his 'nieces' go through Baker Street history in preparation for the boys' move to Sussex.</p><p> </p><p>remains: noun: rəˈmānz: the parts left over after other parts have been removed, used, or destroyed; historical or archaeological relics.</p><p>late Middle English (occasionally treated as singular): from Old French remain, from remaindre, from an informal form of Latin remanere</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).



> for my writing partner, who 'gets me' and makes me write xox
> 
> Yes, Becca has her Uncle John's swearyness, which she always apologises for around Sherlock.

"Uncle 'Lock? Buzzer broken again - no...behind the peas again?"

"Becc?"

"Thursday, it's Thursday, Mum said you wanted help packing stuff up today? Missa and I are here, if it's not a good day, we can come -"

"No, today is as good as any other. Come in, come in - tea? I know John made some earlier, or I can make some fresh?"

Becca Lestrade grinned at her uncle who was knee deep in boxes, had cobwebs in his silver edged curls, and dust on his usually impeccably tailored shoulders. She walked over to give him a kiss and ruffled his hair.

"Hey, I was saving that dust for later." He winked at her, stood up slowly and gave her a hug. "Missa's been feeding you up. Good. That's good, I always worry -"

"I know, I know - can't help it if I take after you - where's your better half?"

"He went to work on getting the gardens ready, took the train down; he isn't good with - "

"Sentiment?" Becca sighed, and he looked up to see her mum's eyes dancing at him. 

"Right, he took a few things with him - I think the move will be harder on him than it will be on me -"

"You know you two are always welcome to visit, Missa and I will always have a guest room for you downstairs."

"I know, Becc, you know how he is -"

"Yeah, yeah and I know how you are too, if we don't start on these piles and knick knacks soon -"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and and grumbled softly. "This is history, Rebecca Charlotte, mine, John's, your parents' and there are bits of your history here, amongst these 'piles and knick knacks' as you call them - not everything can be stored away on your computers and -"

"Sorry, shit - sorry, I know. But, doesn't Cambridge want your papers, like last year?"

"Oh, that? That's all boxed up and ready to go - finally got John to make printouts of his blog and into...let's see, I think at last count, there were 20 volumes?"

"Damn! Sorry - really? But, then, what's all this?" She waved her hand at the boxes and stacks of papers.

"Family stuff, mostly, thought you'd like to go through them with me, see what you want to keep, what we can toss; if John were here, he'd hire a van, carry it all to Chichester and build a shed for it all."

Becca laughed, her dad's big joyful noise escaped from her and he grinned at her. "Yeah, he would at that, wouldn't he?"

Missa bounded up the stairs then balancing a stack of packing boxes ready to be filled. "Hey, Uncle 'Lock - where do you want these?"

"Hey there, Missa. Just dump them over there, we'll use them later; think you'll get a kick out of some of this stuff, there is definitely good blackmail material should you ever need it buried in all these 'knick knacks'."

Missa was almost as tall as Becca, and sturdily made; an artist who actually made a living from her work, mostly huge flowers, somewhat inspired by O'Keeffe, but there was always something darker, something hidden in the bright colours that Sherlock found intriguing. She and Becca had been officially "together" for a few months, but had known each other since childhood. She was Sherlock and John's other niece, had spent many an afternoon at Baker Street, hearing stories, learning the violin from Sherlock; patience and the finer points of risotto from John. She dumped the boxes as instructed and strode over to give her uncle a bear hug.

He's getting thinner, didn't think that was poss-

"I'm fine, Miss, really -" Sherlock kissed her cheek and looked her over. "I like the magenta, wasn't sure about the neon green -"

"I know, won't do that again, was an -"

"Experiment?" Sherlock grinned at her.

"Of course, isn't everything?"

"Ah, grasshopper, you have learned well."

"Uncle 'Lock!" The women rolled their eyes at him.

"Shall we begin, then?" Sherlock had them sit on the couch, as he opened a large wooden trunk, put in his hand and pulled out a small, well-loved stuffed bee toy. "Remember this, Becc?"


	2. A Bee Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place 25 years earlier...

Resting in the cot by the window at Baker street was a small yellow package tied with a Byzantium ribbon. "Another present?" yawned Molly. She watched as Sherlock cradled Becca in his long, capable hands and she breathed a sigh of, not relief exactly, perhaps gratitude that Sherlock loved her daughter as much as she did, the look on his face was almost beatific in the too early morning light.

"Just open it, I saw it the other day when I was out and couldn't resist. "B for Becca, B for..."

"Oh, Sherlock it's so sweet!" Molly whispered, trying not to wake Becca, who seemed to fall asleep easiest in her uncle's hands than anywhere else; even at just a week old, she had already chosen a safe place. Becca snorfled in her sleep and Sherlock laid her against his chest. "Shh...it's okay, little Bee..."

"B for Bee..." Molly looked down at the smiling bright yellow fuzzy bee in her hands, more a teething toy than anything else, but it made her think of one of those days when -

 

"Sherrrrrrlock...." They were in a field, during summer holidays, just lying in the tall grass, hiding away from everyone else, their fingers were barely touching just letting the other know they were there was enough.

"Moll?"

"There's a bee....on my nose..." She whispered, afraid to breathe.

"Just be still, try to tell me what it looks like - colours?"

"Mmmmm....mosttttly black with a red tail..."

"Ah, the Bombus lapidarius, very common."

Molly giggled in spite of herself and the vibration disturbed the bee enough for it to take off. "What a funny name."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment then sat up, "All of a sudden, I want my tea with toast and honey, how about you?"

"Sounds perfect."

 

"Not quite 'Bombus lapidarius' but she'll do," whispered Sherlock. He and Molly stood side by side and watched the sun slowly bring London to life, inch by inch, it seemed.

 

"Oh, my god, it's Beebee - I thought Gladys had...oh, Uncle 'Lock, you kept it all this time?"

"Of course I did - I think you were four when you 'lost' it, it took a week for us to find something to replace it as your bedtime snuggle toy, it was stuck between some books, I was looking for something or other and it just slipped out. I put it away, you were ten by then...you wouldn't have cared then..."

"I know - Beebee went everywhere with me...and for the longest time, you would read me that Winnie the Pooh...yes - that book, is that the...damn, sorry - the same book?" Sherlock handed it to her, and she opened the book to see her name scrawled on the cover page and on the first page and the end page. "Will you, please, Uncle 'Lock?"

"The part where the buzzing starts?" Sherlock asked quietly. She nodded. "Budge up." Missa and Becca scootched down to let Sherlock sit, Becca laid her head in his lap, curled up with the bee and closed her eyes. It had been days since she had properly slept, and somehow he knew, he always knew. Sherlock rested his hand in her auburn hair, which she had almost always kept long and pulled back as her mother had taught her. He vaguely remembered one long excruciating summer years ago when she had cut it all off, a rare act of sheer rebellion...story...right...bees -

 

"One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise.

Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.

First of all he said to himself: "That buzzing-noise means something. You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing-noise, somebody's making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you're a bee."

Then he thought another long time, and said: "And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey."

And then he got up, and said: "And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it." So he began to climb the tree.

He climbed and he climbed and he climbed and as he climbed he sang a little song to himself. It went like this:

Isn't it funny  
How a bear likes honey?  
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!  
I wonder why he does?

Then he climbed a little further. . . and a little further . . . and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song.

It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,  
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.  
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),  
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.

He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just s t o o d o n t h a t branch . . .

Crack !

"Oh, help!" said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him.

"If only I hadn't--" he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next branch.

"You see, what I meant to do," he explained, as he turned head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below, "what I meant to do--"

"Of course, it was rather--" he admitted, as he slithered very quickly through the next six branches.

"It all comes, I suppose," he decided, as he said good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, "it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!"

He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin..." *

 

Becca had fallen fast asleep and Missa looked down at her, then at Sherlock who had closed his eyes, not quite asleep, but not in his Mind Palace either, somewhere in between.

"I rather think of you as Pooh and Uncle John as Christopher Robin, and yet, other times; he's Piglet."

Sherlock smiled, then opened his eyes. "Yes, I suppose you are not far wrong in that assessment, Missa. We both have our days when we are very small animals indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from Chapter 1:  
> https://www.acc.umu.se/~coppelia/pooh/stories/ch1.html


	3. decisions...decisions...decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda angsty, mostly about a decision Molly, Greg, Sherlock and John made, to not tell Becca about Sherlock's 'time away'...

Hey - JW

Hey, love - SH

Miss you - JW

Me too - SH

Girls there? - JW

They went home around midnight, back in a few hours- SH

Gave her Beebee today, she's not sleeping - SH

Maybe she's working - JW

Too hard - SH

You can talk - JW

And why are you up, then, it's 3 am - SH

You know it's nearly impossible for me to sleep without you - JW

Ditto - SH

Are you going to tell her? - JW

I honestly don't know, there are papers from then, still trying to decide if I should - SH

It would help her understand her mum's turns a bit, I think - JW

I need to ask Moll, I don't know if Becc would understand why no one told her, we never lie to her about anything, and yet we didn't tell her - SH

Yeah, that would come up in normal conversation: "Hey, Becc, we think you should know, about eight years before you were born, your Uncle 'Lock faked his own death, went to kill some bad guys, then came back from the dead two years later. This might explain why your mum gets sad sometimes, and won't talk for days." But, she should know - it's part of our history, part of her history, she's a historian fer chrissakes, she should be able to put it into context - JW

I don't know if she would understand why, how I could have left you, left her mum, like that, for so long - SH

I still wonder, sometimes - JW

John. Damn it. Should I come down? - SH

No. Best not, you were right, I'm shite at this stuff. I'm fine, really. Oh, almost forgot, have a surprise for you. - JW

You know I loathe surprises - SH

You'll love this one, promise. I love you. - JW

I love you, come home soon? - SH

Be home tomorrow afternoon, maybe we can tell her together? - JW

Are you sure, it might be rough - SH

Remember, I invaded Afghanistan and married you, not sure which was more ridiculous - JW

Berk - SH

Git - JW

Try to sleep? - SH

You too. - JW

 

Sherlock buried his face into John's pillow and closed his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to send another text.

 

Need to ask a question - SH

Anything - ML

I think I should tell Becca - SH

About? - ML

When I was gone - SH

I think she would understand you more - SH

Why now? - ML

We are going through boxes, just family stuff, she never read the old blog posts, we didn't hide it from her, we just - SH

Never told her. We never told her. - ML

We had our reasons - SH

Yes, we did. We just got on with things, didn't want to dwell there - ML

But, we do sometimes, all of us, do, especially you - SH

Moll? - SH

Yeah, I know, it's fine, if you want to tell her, I can deal with it. - ML

Sure? - SH

Course, now get some sleep, I know it's harder with John not there - ML

How? - SH

You are texting me at 3:13 am. I know you'd be asleep or otherwise occupied were he at home, you idiot. - ML

Love you - SH

Ditto. - ML

 

"Why are you up, love?" Missa put a cup of cocoa in front of Becca and sat behind her on the floor, wrapping her arms around her, waiting until Becca relaxed into her.

"I need to tell him I know."

"You know - oh. Yeah, I think it's time. I don't know why you didn't before, he could have helped you deal with it. I still don't understand -"

"They didn't tell me. I was, what, fifteen, when I started reading the blog from the beginning, seventeen when I read about the 'Fall'. Two years, Miss, he left them for two years, I'm sure whatever he was doing was important, but he made them think he was dead - I think my mum knew, helped him maybe, but then that means she lied to John, to Dad, for two years."

"They never did understand why you cut your hair then, they thought it was just one of those 'rebellious teen things' which you never really did a lot of."

"As smart as they are, they are still just parents - I wanted to talk to him, ask him why, but I never could stand to see him sad - all those times when he would go somewhere else with his eyes, he would be there, reading a story, but his eyes would change for a split second, I would say something or touch him, he would look at me, and he would return, smile at me and kiss my head. I never understood that, even once I knew, I still don't, really."

"Ask him today when we go back."

"I dunno, Miss - don't know if I really want to know."

"Come back to bed, please, you need to sleep, love."

"Love you."

"Ditto."


	4. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay, angst, yes, some angst, as Becca confronts Sherlock about his time away...but there is some fluff, and some Princess Bride...and a surprise, though Sherlock loathes surprises.

"Morning."

Sherlock put down his tea and looked up at Becca, didn't sleep again, at least not enough. And - shit.

"You know. You've known - how long....no, don't tell me - that summer you cut your hair. You could've come to me - I -"

"I didn't want to know, not really know. Because it means you and Mum lied to the people you love most - no, I know you must have had your reasons, but, you let my dad and John, your John, think you were dead. Not just gone, or missing, but dead, you jumped off a fucking building in front of him, made him watch, and Mum helped you, she helped you..."

"Sit, please? I need to tell you, you read the blog posts about Moriarty, yes?"

Becca nodded, still standing, still tense, exhausted from overthinking, needing to know but not wanting to know.

"Please, this was something I was going to tell you, today, John was going to be here, when I told you - honest. Bee, please?"

"Shit. Sorry - you know I can't - " She sat on the couch and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Missa not coming?"

"She had something she needed to paint out - she might come over after."

"Short version. Moriarty threatened to kill John, Mrs. Hudson and your father if I did not jump. He could have called off the snipers with a code, but he killed himself instead, in front of me, blew his brains out. Not faked. Dead. I had no choice. I didn't understand, I always underestimated how crazy he was. If I could have found another way -"

"But you had a plan, you and Mum already had a plan -"

"In case the worst happened, and it did."

"How could you let Uncle John think - "

"I wasn't sure he was safe. I thought if he knew, the people I was going after would hurt him. I know I should've told him, I should have trusted him, I didn't know how much - "

"How much - what?"

"How much he loved me, I mean, we were together before, but, I didn't know, didn't understand what I meant to him, what he meant to me until I had to leave."

"I need to know. What happened to you when you were gone. No. Don't look away - please?" She placed her hand on his face and gently turned it, so he had to look at her. "Please?"

"Bee - "

"I've always known something bad happened to you, since I was little, there have been times when you go away, your eyes, your eyes get, I don't know, grey, like you are seeing something that isn't there. It's just for a split second, if someone touches you or talks to you, you come back, Mum does the same thing, I think it's from the time when Dad was hurt, but sometimes, I don't know. She's still paying for it, so are you. Please - like ripping a plaster off, remember?"

 

"It'll be okay, Bee."

"It'll hurt."

"Not if we just do it. Close your eyes, say your ABC's, and I'll just rip it off. Ready?"

She closed her eyes. "A - B - C - D - E..."

"Done."

"I didn't even feel it."

Sherlock nodded. "There will be a scar, just a little one, to remind you of when you did something you shouldn't have."

 

"Not quite the same thing, Bee."

"Isn't it?"

"You don't, I can't, please - "

"The scars, on your wrists - they look like ropes - "

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. Becca took his hands in hers, and held them gently. "I was tied up for weeks - I was almost home, but I got careless, I was just trying to get back to Jo- your Uncle John, and your mum, I made a series of mistakes, stupid - "

Becca watched his face change and she couldn't do it anymore. She dropped his hands and held him as he collapsed against her. "God, Uncle 'Lock, I'm so, so, sorry. I have no right, I just, I - I was so angry, for such a long time. You and Mum. You just seem to walk around in pain so much of the time, even when you are happy, there is always an edge to it, I wanted to know why, and I thought I knew enough from reading, the press tore you apart, I didn't understand. I didn't want to upset you, I hate when you are sad, I just wanted to know how to help."

"You're helping him now, love." John whispered from the door. "Just loving him helps. No, it's okay, you have the right to know, we should've told you. It's part of us, it's part of you and we should have trusted you with it."

"How did you, how could you just take him back, after - ?"

"You need to ask me that, knowing what you know of him? You've known him all of your life, would you, could you ever hate him, turn him away?"

"How can you even ask me that?"

John nodded. "Yeah, it's that simple, Bee. I love him that much, have for a very long time." John dropped his bag, in his other hand was a leash, and at the end of leash was a small bulldog puppy, reminiscent of Gladys, just slightly different colouring, but the same intelligence, the same humour was there in her eyes. He let the leash go and the puppy went over to Sherlock, sat down waited quietly until Sherlock blinked and looked down.

"She's beautiful, John." He murmured. He reached down and scratched the top of her head. "Buttercup."

"Buttercup?" Becca looked down at the puppy and laughed. 

"What? You don't think she's the most beautiful dog in the world?" Sherlock tried to smile at her, but failed. "I am sorry, Bee, I wish I had the answers for you, just know that I would do anything to keep my family safe. Back then, John, Mrs. Hudson and your father were my family, my world. Your mum and I did what we had to do, it was the hardest thing we have ever done, and yes, it is always there in the background, but she would tell you the same thing, we would have done it again if we had to." 

John walked into the kitchen to start the kettle. Then he went to the couch and picked up Buttercup, and offered Sherlock his hand. Sherlock took it and followed John to their bedroom. John tucked Sherlock into bed, Buttercup snuggled up against him; then he returned to the couch, where he found Becca sitting quietly. The kettle screamed and he walked into the kitchen to make tea. He put the two cups on the coffee table and sat down with her.

"Come 'ere, Bee." Becca leaned against him and let everything go, finally. After ten minutes, she started sniffling, and wiping her eyes. "I didn't mean - "

"I know, love. I know."

"I just love them so much, and I needed to know why they were so sad. I thought I could fix it."

"Sweetie, some things can't be mended, sometimes there is a lot of scar tissue that never quite heals, there are memories that can't be deleted, no matter how hard we try. We just live with some things and hope some day they won't hurt quite so much. Just know that he loves you more than anything. He would never do anything to hurt you, not purposely. Let me show you something."

Becca nodded and John reached into the trunk. He pulled out a lilac baby book. "This is is the first of your baby books."

"The first?"

"He kept a book of you for the first five years. He wrote about you every day, took snaps, took measurements...he knows every first, second and third thing about you, he was there when you were born, started watching you when your mom went back to work, he knows everything, he has never deleted anything about you."

"Oh no..."

"Oh yes. There is someone who knows every single thing about you, your good parts, your not so good parts, everything in between. And he loves you. No matter what." 

"Shit."

"Yeah. Go. Be with him."

"I can't."

"You can. He's not angry, he wishes he had told you before. It's just hard for him to talk about. He still feels like he failed, and you know how often that happens."

"I know. 'Kay. Thanks, Uncle John."

 

"Uncle 'Lock?" She opened the door to a darkened room even though it was nine in the morning. "Can I - ?"

"Of course." She crawled into bed next to him, and laid her head against his chest.

"You didn't sleep last night." She muttered under her breath.

"Neither did you." He retorted quietly.

"Touche. Want me to read to you?"

"I'd like that."

Becca reached down under the bed and grabbed the book she knew was always there, for emergencies:

" 'The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette...' ” *

She read until she felt Sherlock fall asleep under her, then she put the book down, closed her eyes, and fell asleep, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Somehow she knew she had already been forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from The Princess Bride, by William Goldman (the book)


	5. always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit sniffly...apologies galore :)

Mornin' - JW

What's up? - ML

She knows, has known, for years - JW

How? What the - ML

Read the blog, the papers - JW

Damn it, where is she? - ML

Here, they're napping - JW

What did she do? - ML

Asked the normal questions, wanted to understand - JW

Shit! Is he okay? Is she angry, should I come over? - ML

He's okay, hasn't been sleeping lately anyway, he was going to tell her today - JW

I'll be there soon - ML

 

Molly pushed open the door to the flat, afraid of what she would find. John was on the couch watching crap telly and eating toast. 

"Hey, there. They are still asleep, might be awhile. Come, sit. It's okay, they are okay. She read him Princess Bride until he fell asleep, then she passed out after."

She sat on the couch next to him, and let out a sigh. "We keep paying, over thirty years later - it never goes away. I still have nightmares..."

"Come here, love." John held her as she laid down. "You and Sherlock did the only thing you could see to do, then. We are all still here, older, yes, wiser, maybe, maybe not; but we are still here, because of what you did. No one knows what would have happened if you had done nothing or something different. All I know is that we are here now, by some miracle, a few miracles, I think."

She snorted. "You don't believe in miracles."

"No, but someone, or something has been watching over us the last thirty years. We got up to some crazy, stupid stuff back then. He didn't really slow down til, what, five years ago, when he blew out his knee? It hadn't been great since he got back, but he went after that one guy, rooftops again, but misjudged, and crashed, remember?"

"Yeah, I think I didn't talk to him for a week, couldn't believe he did that, right before his 60th birthday, too, he had to have surgery...I was so afraid he wasn't going to wake up. I was so scared."

"Believe it or not, he was too. He almost didn't have the surgery, but if he hadn't, he would have barely been able to walk now. I bribed him with a new microscope."

"You didn't!"

"I did, I was going to give it to him for his birthday, anyway. It did the trick."

Molly laughed, as if she hadn't laughed in a long time. "I can't believe you guys are moving." She shook her head.

"It's time, Molls, he needs more quiet, I need more time to write."

"You're going to do it?"

"Yeah, got a deal to write a book - haven't told him yet - wanted to surprise him. Oh, yeah, and here comes the other surprise." Buttercup waddled out to the front room, wondering about the commotion.

"Oh, John!" Molly covered her mouth to quiet her squeal. She bent down to pick up the puppy, who gazed at her sleepily.

"I figured he's mourned Gladys long enough, needs a distraction. Nothing more distracting than a puppy."

"What did he name her?"

"Buttercup."

"Buttercup?" Molly looked at the dog, then at John then back at the dog, and she couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped. "Damn. But seriously?"

"Mum?" Becca came out of the bedroom, yawning. "What are ya doin' here? Ah, yeah, right -"

Molly got up to face whatever was coming."I just wanted to be sure you two were all right."

"We're fine."

Molly looked at her daughter, so much like her, so much anger, even though she had grown up differently, surrounded by parents and uncles who loved her more than anything. Then she saw the change creep across Becca's face.

"I'm sorry, Mum. I'm so sorry." She launched herself into Molly's arms and nearly took her down.

"Shh, love, it's okay. I have you, sweetie. I'm sorry. We should have told you somehow. We just didn't know how -"

She stopped talking as she felt Becca crumple in her arms. She sat down on the couch and held on to her as if she could keep her from flying apart. "I was so awful to Uncle 'Lock, I thought if he told me..."

"I know, sweetie. He knows, love. I promise, he knows you weren't trying to hurt him."

"I wasn't, I just wanted to understand - "

"I know. He knows, he wanted to tell you a long time ago, I didn't know how you'd deal with it - I wish you would have asked me, when you knew."

"I didn't know what to ask, but I thought I had finally figured out what made you all a bit, I don't know what the word is, different, than anyone else I knew. You all seem to carry more sadness around with you, more than most people do. I didn't know there was so much more to it. When I saw his face today - when he tried to tell me. Oh, Mum."

"Bee, he's already forgiven you, if there was anything to forgive, which I doubt. I want to show you something. Yes, we're good at angst, but look." She opened the baby book sitting on the table, and on the first page was a photo of Sherlock holding Becca for the first time. "Look at his face, sweetie, that's because of you." Becca looked at a much younger, smiling, no, beaming was more the word, version of her uncle. She could see the joy in his eyes, and she had no choice but to smile back. "You are the best thing that has ever happened to him, other than John, of course." Molly winked at John who shook his head. "You gave him a reason to get up on those days when the nightmares were bad, when the ghosts wouldn't leave him alone. He's so proud of you, for who you are. You know that, don't you?"

Becca nodded. She remembered when she came out to him before she told her parents.

 

"Uncle 'Lock?"

"Hmmm? Becc? Didn't hear you come in, what's wrong?"

"Uhm, nothing, really, unless - damn, sorry - you know Missa -"

"Yes, have known her for, what, twenty years, now?"

"Yeah, something like that. Uhm, the thing is, we are..."

Sherlock turned down the blow torch and put it away, then took off his safety goggles, and waited for her to finish.

"Thing is, shesmygirlfriendIloveher."

"Slowwww down."

"I. love. her. I love women, always have. Ever since I was a kid. I asked her to move in with me."

"Excellent news. Come here." She walked over to him, and he pulled her into a hug. "She's a lovely person, and you are both very lucky to have each other. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. That means a lot, I know it's not easy, even these days. I will always love you, no matter what, you know that, yes? You are amazing, brilliant, beautiful and funny as hell, and I'm glad you have someone who loves for all that you are. I know that she does. She told me last week, how much she loves you. I told her to tell you."

"She, she did. She said she had been afraid to tell me - she wasn't sure." She leaned into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you," she whispered.

"What for?"

"For being here, for me. For us."

"Always, Bee. Always, sweetie."

 

"Always, Bee, even though we are moving soon, I'm here for you. You know that, right?" Sherlock had come into the room while she was still lost in her memory, and he was holding her tightly in his arms. Tears were falling down her face. She nodded and looked up at him. He wasn't upset, he had a bit of a smile on his face, and was trying to wipe her face. "Now, shall we go through this trunk, or do you want to wait. No, you are a bit peckish, we need tea, and there's that new bakery down the street, they make these croissants as big as your face...well, almost. Come on, I know your mum needs to eat too, she never eats enough. John, Buttercup, breakfast! Let's go!"


	6. Afternoon/Evening

Becca slipped off her shoes, dumped the bag of croissants on the kitchen table, and put the six pack of lager into the fridge. She walked to the open doorway of Missa's studio and watched her best friend, partner and lover of six months paint furiously at a six by six canvas.

"Are you okay?" Missa mumbled without turning around.

"I, uhm, need you." Becca whispered.

Missa dropped her brushes in the water and wiped her hands. She waited for Becca to come to her, eventually she did, wrapping her arms around her waist and pressing her face between her shoulder blades. 

After a few minutes of silence, Missa turned and looked into Becca's eyes. "Oh, sweetie. Not like ripping a plaster off, was it?"

Becca shook her head. "I was awful to him. I've never seen him break before, Miss, I broke him, his eyes...he was always the strongest person I've ever known..."

"He still is, Becc, he's still the same person you've always known, the only person who might love you a tiny bit more than I do. He still loves you, he gave you that smile and hug as he always does when you left, yeah?"

Becca nodded. "And you didn't break him. He's not a porcelain figurine, he's flesh and blood, and heart. His time away didn't break him, it may have changed him, made him a bit fragile, but if that didn't break him, you asking him about that time couldn't have broken him. He might be a bit quieter for a few days, but you could never break him, love."

"Can we go to bed, please?" Becca whispered against Missa's chest.

"Let me just get the paint out of -"

"No, I don't care -"

Missa nodded and lifted Becca into her arms, sighing as the silent tears began in earnest. "I love you, Bee, let me -"

"Please -"

Missa carried her to their bed, laid her down gently, then undressed, her work clothes were tossed in a pile, leaving her in a t shirt and lace knickers. She got into bed and looked at Becca's wrecked face. "Love, let it go, you can't change what happened to them, you can't fix it for them, you can only keep loving them as you always have, just with less anger, more empathy?" She helped her out of her jumper and t shirt, then worked off her tight aubergine trousers and silken briefs. She knew what Becca needed, she needed Missa to stop her from thinking, to stop the constant whirr, the neverending machine of her thoughts. She bent over her and kissed her softly, then covered her slender, lithe body with her stockier, fuller shape, and she felt Becca sigh, then wrap her arms and legs around her. 

"Touch me, please, Miss -" Becca pleaded.

Missa nodded, and she spent the next hour taking her apart, listening, answering unanswerable questions, holding her until she sobbed herself to sleep.

 

Is she okay? - SH

Yeah, she will be - MG

Are you okay? - MG

I should've told her before. Didn't know how - SH

She always knew you guys carried around so much extra stuff, she wanted to ask, but she didn't know how, then she got obsessed with the blog, back when we were teenagers, we both know it by heart now, I should've said something, but she would never have forgiven me. - MG

You know I love you both, that will never change - SH

Yeah, we love you too, always. - MG

Dinner tomorrow, Angelo's? - SH

Eightish? - MG

Perfect - SH

 

Sherlock settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes. John looked up from his book, saw Sherlock's face, closed the dogeared novel and put it on the table.

"Come here, love."

Sherlock moved until his head rested on John's chest, John held him in his arms and let their breathing become the only sound in the room, until Sherlock began speaking. "I'm so tired, John. I can't make the images stop, there are days..."

John held on as Sherlock wept until he fell asleep. He knew he would wake up soon, as he always did, even after all this time, they still had to fight the nightmares. He hoped with the move to the farm, things would get easier. He picked up his book and turned to the last page, knowing he would never finish it, he had shelf after shelf of partially read books, he always knew the beginnings and the endings, just never got to read the middles, there was always something that got in the way.

 

Molly was watching crap telly when Greg got home. He was acting Commissioner until next week, finally retiring after forty-five years. She had no idea what they would do with each other. She had stopped working just last month, knowing it was time, her hands were having trouble with the tools that she had held for decades and her eyes were going, even with the strong specs.

"Hey -"

"Long day?"

"Yeah, Becc knew about when Sherlock -"

"Shit. Since when?"

"Remember when she cut her hair and didn't speak to us for two years?"

"Oh."

"Wasn't just a normal teen thing, she read the blog, the papers, she thought she understood; she confronted him today, he was going to tell her, I think they are okay, she didn't really understand until today, I hate that she didn't come to me, or go to him."

"She was a teenager, thought she had all the answers. She's always understood that you two carried things around with you that most of us mere mortals don't."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes she would ask why you were so sad, it was usually about the same time every year, those two weeks -" Molly nodded. "So I told her early on about that time, and she seemed to understand, she asked questions and I told her as honestly as I could. As years went by, she asked different questions, and came to realise there was something else. I don't know why she didn't come to me. But she was in that weird place - she didn't trust any of us, as normal teenagers don't. Is Sherlock okay?"

"Seems as okay as he ever is, the move will be hard for both of them, but Sherlock needs a new place to start over, needs his bees and the quiet. John's going to write that book he's always threatened to write. He got a deal - did he tell you?" 

"Yeah, last time we played darts. He's excited but nervous, not sure how Sherlock will take it."

"He will be thrilled, he's always wanted something for John, something bigger than the two of them, something that is his."

"Even if he is writing about them?" Greg grinned.

"What else would he write about?" Molly rolled her eyes at him.

"Yeah, I know." Greg nuzzled her ear and she sighed. It had been a long time. Too long.

"I, will you, please?" She looked into his still bright blue eyes and her breath stuttered. Greg nodded and lifted her into his arms, and kissed her gently.

"I love you, do you know how much? Sometimes it seems we forget to tell each other. I hope you never think -"

"No, I always know, love, but it's nice to hear." Molly grinned up at him as he carried her to bed.


	7. Angelo's Part One

Sherlock and John arrived shortly before eight, and Christina showed them to the table they always reserved for family dinners, which happened at least once a month.

She kissed them both and Sherlock asked after her father.

"He has his good days, maybe you could stop by before you leave, I know he'd like to see you both. He still tells me the story -"

Sherlock nodded, and told her they would visit tomorrow. She grinned and went to get the appetizers started.

John blinked at the candles at the table, and reached over to cover Sherlock's visibly trembling hand. "I, uhm, have a surprise, I've been wanting to tell you, just never got the chance - damn, and won't have the chance, now, either."

He stood to kiss Missa and Becca as they walked into the room. Missa sat down next to John as Becca walked around the table to sit next to Sherlock. She reached for his hand and changed her mind, instead pulling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry for yesterday. I had no right to push you, please forg-" 

Sherlock pulled away and kissed the top of her head. "You can never do or say anything to me that you will need forgiveness for. I should have been able to tell you before, I should have realised you knew long before now. I just didn't want to see it, perhaps. I am just as brilliant at avoidance as I used to be at deducing."

"You are still brilliant, Uncle 'Lock."

He smiled at her, and shook his head. "I should be able to tell you what John is keeping from me, he's known something for almost a fortnight now, but is afraid to tell me. And I haven't been able to deduce it." He looked at her and he narrowed his eyes. "You know, and you're not going to tell me."

"Don't want to steal his thunder, it's a good surprise, promise. Be happy for him, yeah?" She squeezed his hand and poured a glass of wine for herself. "Indulging tonight?" She offered to pour him a glass. 

"Hmm, yes, half a glass, seems I may need it."

Greg and Molly appeared a few moments later. Sherlock noticed they were relaxed for once. He wished they had all dealt with their pasts differently, they rarely spoke of the difficult times because they were, what, so relieved that they were all still there? But, perhaps, if they had talked it out, dealt with it more, the last thirty years wouldn't have been so...

"Sherlock?" John nudged him as Christina was awaiting his order.

"Same as always?" She winked.

"Of course." He smiled back.

Christina left again, and returned with baskets of garlic bread, fresh from the oven. Sherlock took a deep breath in and was transported not to their very first time there together, but the first time after they finally admitted how they felt about one another.

 

"Sherlock! John!" Angelo squinted as them and then hugged them both. "Candle! Definitely a candle this time, I'm right, yes?"

Sherlock couldn't keep the grin from his face and he could see John blush even in the darkened restaurant.

"Yes, yes, you were right all along..."

"Special dinner, you've got time, don't you, not chasing anyone tonight?"

"We have all night, Angelo. We have all the time in the world." John said quietly as he tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand.

 

"Uncle 'Lock?"

"Hmm?"

"Uncle John wants to share his surprise."

"Right. Surprise. You know I loathe-"

"Yes, we know, you loathe surprises. I hope you will like this one, love. As you all know, there has always been interest in publishing our stories, uhm, basically turning the blog into kind of an adventure book, but things always seemed to happen that got in the way..."

"There has?" Sherlock looked completely puzzled.

"Yes, there has - I've told you -"

"Don't remember it ever coming up in conversation."

"All right, I may have told you when I knew the chances of you hearing were small." John mumbled.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't know how you'd feel about it -"

"How do you think I would feel about it?" Sherlock took a sip of wine, then put the glass down and looked up at John's face.

"I honestly don't know."

Sherlock studied the people that surrounded him; his family, his chosen family; his nieces; Molly, for all intents and purposes his sister, but more than that; and Greg, the reason he was still here, he had saved him more than once from himself. Then he turned his eyes on his best friend, his lover, his husband, his everything and sighed.

"You honestly don't know?" He whispered to him quietly. John looked down at his plate and shook his head. "Oh, John. How can you think I'd be less than over the moon for you. How could you think I wouldn't want this for you? How can you think I wouldn't want you to tell our story? You are the only one who could ever do all of us justice."

John sat quietly, not yet ready to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"You are going to Sussex to write about us. I am going to Sussex to tend to the bees and the gardens and to make you tea and remind you when it is time to eat and sleep, when you forget."

John finally raised his eyes and Sherlock saw wonder in them, wonder like the first time he ever witnessed him at a crime scene. He took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him softly.

"You are amazing, love, still, somehow you can still surprise me."

Sherlock blinked at the smiling faces around him and lifted his glass. "A toast, to John, who will make us all proud, as he always has done before."

"To John!" They echoed.

"Now, it's time to eat! Missa, make sure Becca gets some of that lasagne, she needs -"

"Feeding up, I know, I know." Becca grinned at him and kissed his nose. "You are lovely, you know."

"Only because of all of you. You make me so."


	8. Angelo's Part Two

Greg and Molly left earlier than usual, claiming 'unfinished paperwork'; Sherlock shook Greg's hand, then grinned and gave him a hug. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"What for?" 

"You know." 

Greg nodded and hugged him back. "Yeah, me too, for everything." He went to get their coats and Sherlock muttered to Molly, "Paperwork? You don't even have paperwork anymore."

"Yeah, I know..."

"Good for you." 

"I wish..."

"What?"

"...that things were -"

"Things are as they are. We are very lucky, you know."

"Lucky?" She finally looked into his eyes and saw him smiling at her. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you are right. We are two of the luckiest people ever, aren't we?" She leaned into his shoulder, wrapped her arms around him and sighed. He gave her a tight squeeze and kissed the top of her head. "We'll get the girls home. I love you."

"Ditto." She winked at him and went to follow Greg.

 

Sherlock sat down and rubbed his face.

John nudged him and asked gently, "ready to head out?"

He shook his head. "Nope, I'm in the mood for a bit of tiramisu and another glass of wine."

John raised his eyebrow, but got up to place the order.

"Bee, you don't remember, but you had your first bolognese here..."

"It was my second birthday, also had my first tiramisu here too that night, both of them were stuck at work, so you were in charge of my birthday celebration. Mum was furious, she didn't speak to you for two days. A ruined frock and she's still convinced it's why I don't sleep well to this day."

Sherlock laughed, and thanked Christina with a smile, as she delivered an enormous serving of the dessert with four spoons and a glass of his favourite dessert wine. "Bedtimes are dull, and you hated that particular frock with a passion."

Missa shook her head and grabbed her spoon, and said between bites, "I bet it was that pale pink with the tiny roses? I used that in my show, part of my textile piece..."

Sherlock sat back and thought. "Right, it was, damn..."

"I have never had a birthday without tiramisu since then - or without you, Uncle 'Lock." Becca leaned against him and he draped his arm around her and hugged her tightly.

"I need to go work on something, it's in my head, need to paint it out - you know how it is, Uncle 'Lock, Uncle John, love you." Missa gave Sherlock and John kisses, nodded to Becca who kissed her and walked her to the door.

Sherlock and John sat and watched the candles as they melted away to nothingness. John blinked first and shook his head. "I'm going to miss so much, love."

"I know, but we need time, just us, to do - whatever - even if we choose to do absolutely nothing, it's okay. And we can always come to visit."

"It won't be -"

"the same, no, but we will appreciate it for a bit, then appreciate the quiet even more when we return home."

"Home. I can't believe we are leaving -"

"John, look at me." Sherlock touched John's face gently and smiled at him. "My home is wherever you are, the building, the location, it could be on Mars someday, but it doesn't matter, you are my home, love."

Becca watched as John nodded and kissed Sherlock as if his life depended on it. She was struck again how lucky she and Missa had been, to grow up with these remarkable people, these men who honestly knew how to love one another without reservation and so completely.

She walked back to the table and gave each of them a kiss. "I'm gonna take a cab, I'll be fine, you two stay."

"NoPe," Sherlock popped. "Uh-uh, we'll go with you, it's late for us anyway."

They left arm in arm in arm; John looked up and sighed, "I've never seen a clearer night. Look, I think that's Jupiter." Sherlock and Becca followed his finger and nodded; Becca had taught Sherlock the night sky years ago, and he recalled her frustration, when he admitted his general lack of knowledge.

"It's the SOLar SYStem!" She threw her hands into the air.

"I know, but it, uhm, doesn't come up in my work a lot, so I -"

"You didn't."

"I had to dump the unimportant trivia when I met your Uncle John. He, hmm...took a lot of space, so -"

"Well, if it was for Uncle John -"

"I knew you'd understand."


	9. a bit of Johnlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for those who love the explicitude...and a teensy bit of angst. Rating change...

John unlocked the door and they made their way up the seventeen steps. He took off his coat and shoes, then turned to Sherlock and looked up into his face. "You're still so -"

"Still so - what? I'm almost afraid to ask," he questioned, with an impish grin.

"Beautiful." John answered. "I couldn't take my eyes from you."

Sherlock shook his head. "Candlelight does strange things to your brain, always has." He started to remove his scarf, but John stopped him. "Let me. Let me, please, love?"

Sherlock leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. "Yes, John." 

John gently unwrapped the well-worn scarf from his husband's neck and hung it up, then turned back to look at the man who stood before him. He had known and loved him for so many years, and yet there were times that he could still surprise him with his sharp, angular beauty. Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled at him then, and it took his breath away. He nodded and helped him out of his coat, and shoes, and took his hands in his. "I -"

"I feel a bit of a sentimental speech coming," Sherlock muttered, "why don't you-"

John rolled his eyes and thought back to a night shortly before the 'Fall', where he had Sherlock in the same position, the same smirk danced across his lips - he shook his head, blinking away the memory and focused on the man in front of him. Older, more thoughtful, but still the same gorgeous smart-arse he had fallen in love with. 

Without another word, John dropped Sherlock's hands and pulled him into a heated, deep, and passionate kiss that would have taken Sherlock to his knees if John had not reached out for him. "I have you, love."

Sherlock leaned into him and whispered, "I know, I know you do. Please-"

John nodded and lifted him into his arms. Sherlock laughed, "I can still walk, you know."

"I know, I just don't want to wait that long." John kissed his nose and grinned at him.

"Hhmmmph." Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, but allowed him to carry him to bed. John laid him down gently and undressed. Sherlock's eyes followed his every motion, and John grinned as he heard his husband's breath change. "You haven't changed a bit," he sighed appreciatively.

"Liar." John chuckled as he began to undo Sherlock's bespoke trousers.

"John - " Sherlock grabbed his hands.

John stopped and glanced into his darkening eyes.

"Slowly?"

John nodded and straddled him, kissing him softly, carefully unbuttoned and removed Sherlock's aubergine shirt, kissing his way down, counting the freckles and the scars that dotted his chest. They both tensed as he found the oldest scar, the one that reminded them of what they could have lost so long ago.

"I'm here, John. I'm still here."

"I know." John laid his head against Sherlock's chest and took a deep breath, he relaxed as he felt Sherlock's long fingers in his hair. "I forget, sometimes, how many times I could have lost you - I try to forget, I try to delete all those moments, those years when I did lose you, but it's part of us, and it's always there -"

Sherlock stilled his hands and waited.

"-to remind me of how fortunate we are." He moved so he could look into Sherlock's eyes, that were soft and dark, it always surprised John the depth of feeling that shone through them for him, and him alone. He kissed him, then he huffed in surprise as Sherlock rolled them, bumping gently into Buttercup, who lifted her head and glared at them before jumping from the bed and waddling into the front room.

They both laughed for a moment until John saw the light in Sherlock's eyes change. He nodded, and Sherlock rediscovered all the ancient places that he knew made John lose any thoughts in his head; and discovered some new ones. He heard John's breathing change, then got up and removed his remaining clothing, revealing his need for the man who watched him.

"Come here, love."

Sherlock grabbed a bottle from the bedside table, and whispered, "I need to see your eyes tonight, love, please?"

John nodded and waited, and Sherlock took his time, slowly and lovingly, opened John up; listening to him, feeling for the moment when he was ready. He stopped and caught his eyes, John nodded once more, and wrapped his legs around Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock pressed in, taking care, paying attention to John's breathing and his fingers tightening and releasing in his curls. Finally, he was fully seated, fully inside John and they both stilled. "God, love, you feel - I need you to move, please?"

Sherlock smiled into John's eyes, watching the colours dance in them, "try to keep your eyes on me, John," he whispered, "I want to see, I need to see you -"

"Please?"

Sherlock moved slowly at first, then sped up, he grabbed the headboard and reached down to kiss John as he thrust into him.

He watched his love's eyes tear up, then overflow, and suddenly John was coming untouched, making Sherlock's breath catch and soon he, too, was moaning John's name as he tried to keep his eyes open - when he came to, John was holding him tightly in his arms, weeping softly. He found tears streaming down his own cheeks, not quite understanding where they were coming from.

"You still find ways to surprise me, John," he whispered once he could find his voice again.

"Bath?" John asked quietly, and Sherlock nodded and offered him his hand.

 

John followed him, and found himself remembering the night he helped Sherlock into a warm bath the day he returned. It had taken time to remove the muddy and tattered clothing, and several times he had to stop as Sherlock tensed, trying not to let John know the pain he was in.

"John?" Sherlock touched his face, and kissed him. "Where are you, love?"

"Sorry -"

Sherlock shook his head. "Water is ready, I added that lavender oil you like -" He got in gingerly, then helped John to sit in front of him. They both breathed in the gentle scent and John leaned back into Sherlock's arms.

"I was thinking of the night you came back to me."

Sherlock grabbed a flannel and began washing John as he spoke. "All I could think of was how thin and tired you were, how much I wanted to help you, and how quiet you were, how much I loved you."

"You were so kind and gentle with me, so much more than I deserved." He washed John's shoulders and kissed his neck.

John closed his eyes. "You have no idea how many times I had dreamed of you coming back, but you always looked as you did when you left, before you ju- your curls were perfect, clothes immaculate, and you showed up so casually, your old arrogant self in my dreams; not the way you did in reality- apologetic, barely alive, needing me, yet afraid of -"

"I was afraid you would turn away from me, that you had moved on from me, from us, but when I saw you recognise me, as you lifted my chin, I saw that you were still my John, my love, and I finally began to understand how you felt about me, what I meant to you, and what you meant to me. I had been ready for anything except your kindness, your love, and it nearly finished me. I was so tired, so broken in so many ways, and yet, you saw me, saw what I had been, and you knew, somehow you knew I was still there. I tried to fight you, I didn't think you could possibly want what I had become, but you let Molly come, and she made me realise I was still me, enough of me was still there for her, so it was possible that you saw that as well, those parts of me that had survived - I have never felt like I have thanked you enough, for simply being there, being here." He was mumbling into John's shoulder, as he washed John's foot, his fingers feeling the arthritis slowly taking over; he stopped and kissed him, in a favoured spot, over the almost faded spot, the tiny scar, the entry wound that brought him into Sherlock's life.

"There is no other place I could ever be, love, except by your side...water's getting cold, let me help you out?"

Sherlock nodded as John climbed out, toweled off a bit, then reached in to help Sherlock out of the tub, his legs stiff from sitting so long. "I have you, just hold on to me."

They dried off, then climbed back into bed, curled around one another, John's head resting against Sherlock's strong heartbeat, while Sherlock held onto John's wrist, falling asleep to the steady pulse beneath his fingers.


	10. For Better or For Worse

Sherlock was out for a walk with Buttercup, usually it took them over half of London, as he wanted her to learn it before they left for Sussex the following week. John was going through the trunk bit by bit when Missa poked her head in.

"Hey, Uncle John - gotta few minutes?"

"Of course, I do, Miss - come in, come in." He started to rise as she walked in, but she shook her head. She sat on the couch next to him and gave him a kiss. 

"What is that?" She pointed to an album he was flipping through.

"Molly and Greg's wedding album."

"Really? Could I see?" John nodded and started from the beginning.

"Ohmygoddd, Aunt Molly - she was so gorgeous, the hat, holy - and Donovan, looks like she was going to take off." Missa giggled and John pointed out his favourite snaps.

John grinned as she ran her fingers over the images. "You were all so young, Uncle Sherlock was..."

"Is still beautiful." 

"I know, but, wow."

"Yeah - he is that."

She finished looking through the book and closed her eyes. "Howdidyoupropose?"

"How did I propose?" He reached for her hand and felt her pulse racing. "I looked up from the sporting section and asked if he would marry me, he said yes, took him a few minutes to realise what had happened."

She breathed a little easier and pulled out a box. "What do you think?"

John opened it and blinked. "It's stunning, Miss."

"I sold a show."

"A show? An entire show?"

"Yeah. It was only eight pieces."

"Only eight?"

"They were those big morning glories I did last year."

John nodded. "She'll love it."

"I'm nervous." 

"Why?"

"Not sure she wants to. We don't really need it, we aren't religious in any way, we haven't really talked about it - "

"What do you want, Miss?"

"I want, I want people to know how much I love her. I want to stand up in front of people and make her eyes glow, you know that colour...I want to put a ring on her finger..."

 

Sherlock was sitting with Becca at their coffee place, Buttercup stretched out at his feet; he closed his eyes, and leaned back, letting the late winter sun warm his face.

"Something's on your mind."

"Why'd you and Uncle John get married?"

"Because he asked me and I said yes."

She rolled her eyes at him and sighed. "No, I mean why did he ask and why did you say yes?"

"He wanted, we wanted to celebrate what we mean to each other. And after all that we, he had been through, I couldn't say no to him." He stopped and shook his head, then looked her in the eyes. "No.That's bullshit. I wanted it, needed it, just as much as he did, maybe more. Back then, even now, every once in a while, it was hard for me to understand why he is still here, with me. Then I look down at my hand and see this, this ring, his ring, I remember why. I remember the day he threw me a wedding, he did all on his own, for me. He did it exactly as I he knew I would have wanted it, quiet, without a lot of fanfare, your mum was there, by accident, but she was there, Mycroft was there, and John, John was dressed to the nines, all bespoke and..."

"Gorgeous, I saw that ridiculous selfie, Mum keeps it on the fridge. It's been reprinted a couple of times, she can't stand to see it look faded."

They sat quietly for a while, then Becca pulled out a jeweler's box, and laid it on the table in front of Sherlock. "Tell me what you think."

He nodded and opened the box to reveal a handmade silver chain with an celtic knot pendant. "She never wears rings, she hates things on her fingers...I thought - "

Sherlock smiled at her, that smile that made her feel like she was five again and she had said something brilliant. "It's beautiful, Bee."

"I'm just not sure - "

"About?"

"We've never talked about it - marriage as a 'thing,' as an 'institution,' the mechanics of it, the political ramifications, the historical - "

"Do you love her?"

Becca rolled her eyes at him. 

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with her?"

Becca bit her lip and nodded.

"Do you want to be the person who can speak for her when she can't."

"Yes, I want that, with her, for her."

"So?"

Becca grinned and took his hand in hers. "You make it seem so simple."

"It is." He squeezed her hand and smiled. "Do you want to do it at the farm?"

"Could we? That would be perfect!" Her eyes lit up and he had no choice but to laugh.

"Of course. Of course, Bee, Nothing would make us happier."

 


	11. Yes

Becca walked into Missa's studio and took a deep breath; she relaxed, relieved she had a few moments to herself. She was ready to ask her, she was, she just needed time to think. No, not think, just time to...she looked at the beginnings of Missa's next series, portraits...she never painted people - and they weren't just any people. She found herself looking into her own eyes, but younger, and next to hers, her uncle's...

"It was going to be an engagement present," Missa whispered from the doorway. "I -"

"Marry me, Miss." She didn't turn, or move a muscle, she just waited for the sound of Missa's bare feet to pad across the across the creaky floorboards. Should get those replaced... She felt strong arms around her, took in that unique scent of the honeysuckle shampoo that she had used as long as they had known each other, the clean almond soap, and that dusty, paintcharcoalartsy fragrance that had clung to her since they had first shared crayons. Becca leaned back into her arms and looked at the painting. "How did you manage to capture all of him? Just from his eyes, Miss, it's all there; the sorrow and pain, all buried beneath his great love and -"

"Yes. Yes, of course, I'll marry you." Missa kissed Becca's neck, finding that spot that normally made Becca's knees turn to jelly. But she managed to take a deep breath and turn in Missa's arms.

"Turn around? Please?" Missa turned and Becca pulled the necklace from her pocket, undid the clasp and placed the token around her lover's neck. Missa looked down, picked up the pendant and kissed it. She turned again and Becca was stunned to see tears running down her partner's face. She had never seen her cry before, not even as children, even when she had fallen down and skinned a knee, or been teased mercilessly for being herself. She had reduced her best friend, her lover and now fiancee to tears by her offer to be hers for the rest of her life. She had broken her - she stepped back, suddenly unsure of everything.

Missa pulled her back into a fierce embrace and whispered against her chest. "No. Bee. Stop being afraid. It's just I thought I knew how it would be, how it would feel, and I was wrong, it's so much more, so much bigger - I just love you so much, I didn't think it was possible you could love me as I love you - and I'm so sorry for not understanding, for not believing - I just thank whatever forces brought us to exist together, you - you make me - damn it, Bee, give me your hand."

Becca laid a trembling hand in Missa's and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she found a delicate ring of twisted golden vines and tiny, brilliant, twinkling emeralds. She found her own eyes well up and she shook her head. "Not gonna cry, not today. Miss. Not today, love." She brushed her tears away and watched her the lights from her ring dance on the ceiling. "We need to tell them."

Missa nodded as Becca kissed her tears away. 

 

"Mum, Dad!" Becca called as she walked into the house, pulling Missa behind her. The lights were off, everything was quiet, too -

"Surprise!" Molly, Greg, Sherlock, and John jumped from behind the couch and their friends from childhood til the present day, began to light candles.

Becca glared at Sherlock. "You know I loathe surprises as much as you do, if not more."

"Yes, but I'm old and venerable now, you will forgive me before the night is over." He winked at her and nodded at her hand, "show me, Bee." She held out her hand and he examined it thoroughly; turning her hand as it blinked in the candlelight that surrounded them. He smiled at her, the same smile that she saw in Missa's painting, the eyes that had seen so much, glittered lovingly at her. No words were needed, none were spoken as she threw her arms around him. She felt him lean against her, and she knew he no longer saw her as the little girl he raised, but a capable, loving and loved human being.

He pulled back and took her face in his long hands."I'm so proud of you. But you know that, don't you? I always have been, since the day you came into the world. I love you, Bee." 

She grinned and nodded, and kissed his nose. "I love you, too." She saw John standing by, hugging Missa and winked at him. His warm blue eyes twinkled back at her, and once again, she knew how lucky and how loved they were.

"Stay for a bit, please, just sit with me?" They sat on the couch as the party revolved around them, Sherlock told stories of the girls' childhood, then John was begged to tell some of their lesser known adventures, the laughter and chatter lasted well into the night until just the six of them remained, Sherlock had fallen asleep in John's lap, and Missa was snoring against Becca's shoulder.

"Thanks, guys. You were so sure of us, huh?" Becca shook her head.

"It was your Uncle 'Lock, he knew when he saw the necklace, you were ready. He wanted you to know how much you were loved, not just by us, but by everyone. He knows how hard it can be, even when you have someone, he wanted to make sure you knew you weren't alone. Mind if we crash in your guest room, Moll?"

Molly yawned and shook her head, "You know you are always welcome, always."

 

John put Sherlock to bed, then helped Becca and Missa into a cab.

"Come over tomorrow afternoon, have some things you'll want to see."

"We'll be there, we love you, you know."

"I know, Bee. I've always known."

She kissed his cheek, then slid into the cab, wrapping her arms around Missa.

 

"You did it, love."

"Hmm?"

"They are both brilliant, lovely people."

Sherlock shook his head. "I was just along for the ride."

"You know you did more than that."

"I just never wanted them to ever feel unloved, unappreciated or less than necessary."

"I love you."

"I love you. Come here." John curled around Sherlock and they fell asleep, for once a dreamless night.


	12. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of angst...ok more than a bit...it gets better as always <3

"Do I look any different today?" Becca asked Sherlock as she gratefully took her first sip of tea.

Sherlock's eyes glittered at her, and he shook his head. "Why? Should you? You mean other than you obviously didn't sleep last night, except for maybe an hour nap, right before you came over - is that what you mean? No. I know it isn't what you mean."

"Didn't you feel different after Uncle John asked you to marry him?"

Sherlock looked at the ring that had been on his finger for over thirty years now, had never left his hand in all that time, since the day John had put it on him.

"Yes," he whispered. "Once I figured out what had happened, I walked out of the flat and didn't come home for two days."

"What?" Becca's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"I didn't understand why he would - it wasn't long after I got back, I was starting to heal physically, but emotionally, up here?" He pointed to his head. "I was still a mess. Your mum had to come find me and bring me back, I left to go find my old dealer, he was long gone. Then I just started walking, I lost track of where I was, had no idea what time it was, what day it was...I had my phone, but hadn't turned it on, when I finally did, I realised I had lost a day. There were twenty text messages, thirteen voice mails. Your dad was furious, John had even contacted Mycroft, and they, well, they had a history...but your mum, I thought she would kill me when she found me, but she understood, of everyone, she understood the most. She knew where I would go, we had a place where we would meet, when things got...difficult. She knew I needed time, I texted her when I was ready to go home."

 

"Sherl', love? I'm here, just me."

"Molls?"

"John's worried. He even has Myc looking for you."

Silence.

"Greg's exhausted and angry as hell, he hates when you do this, he can't go through it again-"

"I didn't. I wanted to, he wasn't there anymore, I just needed to -"

"I know, love."

"How? Why? What does he want from me, I'm not - he will figure out I'm not what he wants, or needs, he can't possibly want to be with me for the rest of his life, not with me."

"He doesn't want anything from you, he just wants to be able to love you, be with you, and yes, take care of you, he wants you to let him be there for you."

"But why?"

"Why?"

"Did you just nod? It's dark, I can't see you nod, idiot. Come with me, I won't take you home yet, I need you to come with me. Please, give me your hand."

Molly took Sherlock's shaking hand in hers and squeezed it lightly, his fingers were still healing, he still couldn't quite play the violin yet, and as much as she wanted to hold him tightly in her arms, it wasn't what he needed, or could tolerate.

She led him to her car, helped him in and shut the door, then looked up to the starless, moonless night above and hoped she was doing the right thing. She drove a few blocks to a grey, non-descript block of flats and stopped.

"Why are we here?"

"Do you know where we are?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"This is where John lived before he met you. Before you saved him, before you met and he saved you. He wanted you to see this, he wanted to tell you, how close he was -"

"No. Please, Moll." Sherlock closed his eyes.

"He needs you as much as you need him. He needs you simply because he loves you. You've never understood that. Yes, you help him with nightmares and you have given him a life, a life that he loves, but he would love you no matter what, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, he realises he maybe did it too soon, but he wants this, and I know you do. You've loved him since the very first moment, when he limped into your life. He was damaged, he still is, it didn't matter to you, still doesn't, you knew how close he was, and yet - "

"It's different."

"How? Explain it to me, how is it different? What makes you so damn special?"

Sherlock glared at her. "I'm not a good person. Never have been. He is - he deserves more."

"Bullshit."

"I'm afraid, Moll. I'm afraid he will realise and leave me."

"Why did you leave him for two years?"

"Because I had to."

"WHY?"

"Damn it, because I can't live without him in the world. I left to make sure he would be safe, no matter what happened to me."

"You were willing to never come home so he would be safe."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"You love him."

"Yes."

"More than anything."

"More than anything, ever. Oh, Molls. I - take me home? Please?"

Molly took him in her arms carefully and nodded, she ran her fingers through his hair until his breathing calmed. "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm so sorry, I want to take all your pain away. I know I can't, I know John can't, but we are here, to be with you, to love you, no matter what. I thought you understood that."

 

"I came home and John forgave me again, as he always has done." Becca hugged him, then breathed in sharply as she heard John speak softly.

"As I always will, though the only person who ever needed to forgive you was yourself, love."

Sherlock looked up to see John leaning against the doorway, tears running down his face. Buttercup's leash was in his hand.

"John. That night, you had fallen asleep, you were asleep when I got home, you woke up in a panic, looking for me. I got into bed next to you, fell asleep holding you, even had my shoes and coat on still. The next day, you quietly held my hand and asked me again with your eyes and I said -"

" 'Yes, please. Yes, John.' That's what you said, and you kissed me." John whispered. He removed Buttercup from her lead, and let her go to Sherlock, who laid his long fingers in her fur as he rested against Becca's shoulder.

"You nodded, and you put your hand in your pocket and pulled out my ring, this ring, you kissed it, then put it on my finger. You never asked me where I'd gone, you never held it against me, ever." He rose and walked toward John, then reached out to a brush away a tear that was making its way down his husband's wet cheek. "You seem to have this endless supply of compassion for me, and I still have such little understanding of it. Thank you. If I say it a hundred times a day for the next twenty years, it won't be thanks enough."

John shook his head. "I was terrified I had asked too much of you, needed too much...you have no idea how grateful I was when I felt your arms around me, when you whispered against my hair that you loved me and would never leave me again. You promised me, and somehow you've kept your word." He leaned into Sherlock's chest and breathed out as Sherlock's arms locked around him.

"Perhaps, another day?" Becca murmured quietly.

Sherlock nodded. "Tomorrow, Bee? Sometimes the past needs healing before we can move on, hmmm? But to answer your question, yes, love, you do seem a bit different than yesterday. I'm guessing it is because you are no longer afraid that you are not enough. You know. You saw it in her eyes, last night, this morning, that you are enough."

Becca nodded and touched his shoulder as she left. "Yes, perhaps that is what has changed, maybe my love for her is enough."

As the front door to 221 B closed, John felt Sherlock's arms tighten around him. 'You have always been enough, love, always." He opened his eyes and found Sherlock looking down at him, and he finally knew that his love was enough. He couldn't change the past, but he could help his love move into the future.


	13. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry, not sorry chapter - John dreams of Sherlock's return; then we'll get to the ultra fluffy fluff

John shook his head and looked at his phone. He still checked, every night, after two years, looking for texts that would never come. 

His intercom buzzed: "John - you have one more, looks like someone from his Homeless Network - sorry, I have to go, can you lock up?"

John sighed and pinched his nose, "Yeah, Sarah, go home, thanks."

"Get some sleep tonight, yeah?"

"I'll -"

"try - right. See you tomorrow."

John stood to let his last patient in, but he had already entered. "Dr. Watson? I've heard good things about you." He more or less fell into the chair in front of him, dark scraggly hair, overly thin, in need of a haircut, a shave, shower, and probably a hospital bed-

"Say.that....again?"

"You know I hate repeating myself, John." 

"Sher - " John collapsed at the man's feet, kneeling before him. He sat up and stared straight into the flashing blue-green golden eyes that he thought he'd never see again. He touched his dirty, bruised, and tired face then whispered, "Let me take you home?"

Sherlock reached up slowly, grimacing slightly to cover John's hand with his own trembling fingers."That's it? You - "

"Please, Sherlock - " He closed his eyes as his friend and lover, his presumed dead and buried friend and lover crumpled into his arms.

"Yes, John, please. Please, take me home." John carefully folded his arms around Sherlock and helped him to his feet. Strangely, no tears fell; he could feel him shiver through the thin clothing, heard a soft sharp intake of breath, indicating at least one or more cracked ribs and who knew what else...knew it would be a long time before he would be whole again, if he ever was, but he was home.

 

"John? John!" Sherlock was holding him, kissing him, trying to wake him up. John opened his eyes, he had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up in Sherlock's lap. "I'm home, love. I'm here. It's been a long time since you had that night-"

"No, it was never a nightmare, Sherlock, you coming back to me was never a nightmare. Funny, I used to regret your dark hair turning grey, saw it as a sign of us getting old...now, I see your silver curls and realise how lucky I am that I was given the chance to grow older with you. You are more beautiful to me now than you ever were." He pulled Sherlock into a gentle, but needy kiss, and felt their tears, his and Sherlock's under his fingers. 

"Idiot." Sherlock whispered. "I knew I shouldn't have let you fall asleep on the couch." He shook his head and kissed John's forehead. "Are you hungry at all, or do you want to go to bed? It's only two o'clock, but I don't mind..."

"Bed, please? I just need - " He looked into Sherlock's understanding and quiet eyes. They hadn't always been so calm and clear.

 

"John! Where are you? I can't find you! JOHN! Please?"

"I'm here, I'm here love. You are home." John laid his hand on Sherlock's face. "Open your eyes, love." Sherlock's eyes opened, but they were seeing something else, they were elsewhere, the colour of ash, as they were when he was trapped in his head, in the stories he could never share. He blinked finally and sighed, leaning into John's chest, pressing his palm against his heartbeat.

"There you are."

"Where I will always be."

 

They undressed and laid down, Sherlock held John in his arms, their fingers locked together. At times like these, they had learned to simply breathe as one, words were unneeded, unnecessary. John rolled in Sherlock's arms and kissed him, Sherlock nodded and slowly reminded John that they were still there, they were scarred and worn, but somehow they had defied the odds and expectations. They had long ago stopped questioning why and how, they just knew they were where they were meant to be. Sherlock watched John's face, knowing he was close, saw the relief and love in his eyes that still made him shiver. He moved once more and John shuddered, his fingers tightening into Sherlock's silver strands, and together they sighed, then giggled. Sherlock rested against John's chest and hummed as fingers danced in his hair.

"Know what I feel like?" John whispered when they recovered.

"Thing with peas, no mushrooms, glass of wine, and a bit of crap telly." Sherlock grinned.

"You know me so well."

"I should by now, old man." Sherlock sat up and winked at the man below him, who smacked him with a pillow.

"Hey-"

"Shower first?"

"Yeah, you go ahead, I'll get the rice going."

John kissed him as he got up gingerly and headed for the door.

"Sherlock -"

"Mmm?" He turned and met John's eyes. "Yeah, John, I know. I know, love."


End file.
